


Hand Grenade

by Cheloya



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheloya/pseuds/Cheloya
Summary: Imported, from 2005. Yuffie has no patience for this.





	Hand Grenade

**Author's Note:**

> To the tune of "She's a Rebel" by Green Day.

_she's a symbol_  
of resistance  
and she's holding on my arm like a hand grenade

* * *

It starts as a tap, tap, tap and ends as a pound, pound, pound, “DAMMIT, VINCENT!” He comes awake as though she has thrown cold water over him (and he wouldn’t put it past her) and opens his eyes just in time to be blinded as she - in a feat of strength that is quite impressive in a girl of her size - wrenches the lid from his coffin with a primal scream.

She grabs his claw and has him half out of the little wooden box that has been his resting place since the last of the celebrations flickered out on the ruined edges of Midgar; she’s tugging at him wildly as though he is making them late, though he hasn’t seen her since the ceremonies, and she is hurting his shoulder with the fury of her tugs.

“You can’t stay cooped up in here any more. I won’t let you, Vinnie, so don’t even think about trying it! I’ll come drag you out! I’ll tie you up in curling ribbon if you come back here again, and I’ll tie the ribbon to balloons and float you through Gold Saucer!”

He comes to his feet disheveled and weary despite his long sleep, and in the darkest corners of his heart he can see the dust motes whirling; illuminated by the strength and ferocity of the light she offers, thrusts him, with no care as to whether he wants it or not. _It’s yours and here you are, you can’t give it back, ha ha ha._

“What are you doing here?”

She glimmers and shines and pulls him towards the exit, determined to have her way even if he does demand explanation. “Making sure you don’t start to stick to the velvet,” she quips lightly, and starts to run, pulling him along behind her. Together, they dash up the spiral stars, ricocheting from the walls; Vincent cannot say why he is following, merely that there is something about her that draws him as steadily as red, raw steak draws the heat and agony from a bruise.

They run along the halls; the stained glass sends colours flying across her skin, the gold of his arm a brief whirlwind of summer colours (can it be summer already?) and as they burst out the door into the sunlight, there is a silence like the desperate, giddy inhalation before a scream.

* * *

_she sings the revolution, the dawning of our lives_  
she brings this liberation that I just can’t define  
well, nothing comes to mind

she’s a rebel  
she’s a saint  
she’s the salt of the earth and she’s dangerous  
she’s a rebel  
vigilante  
missing link on the brink of destruction


End file.
